


Water Fae, They Say

by ThatAnnoyingBella



Series: Grow Old Together, We Do [6]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Bonding, Fae Magic, M/M, Magic, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Urban Magic Yogs, Water, battle of wills, kelpie!smith, near-drowning, selkie!Trott, umy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 16:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12657222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAnnoyingBella/pseuds/ThatAnnoyingBella
Summary: Trott and Smith create a magical bond.





	Water Fae, They Say

**Author's Note:**

> The tone of this fic is based on a scene fro the movie Avatar, where Jake has white paint run in two lines down his lips by the fingers of his lover. I remember the intimacy and tension of it being so captivating. Really had fun with this one, so enjoy!  
> You might like to check out my Tumblr post before reading this: https://thatannoyingbella.tumblr.com/post/167226418762/just-finished-a-fresh-fic-link-will-be-here-very

Trott carefully tried knot after knot, his hands steady and working efficiently. Worn down sea shells hung from shoddy twine around his neck, a poor attempt at a necklace. Magic hummed around him, softer and less chaotic than Smith’s, but no less powerful. Between his teeth was a thin metal crochet hook. The intense focus he held and the trust it implied was almost too much, in light of what they were about to do.

 

Trott had spent hours trying to find the perfect tree. The wood needed to be soft and supple, not brittle or dry, but solid, not too bendable. Then he needed to find the right paint. He wanted vivid colour, but an organic blend and a shitty coverage, to cater to his “this’ll do” magic style. Paint coloured like the sky, and a nice blue-ish green, the green of a stream you could only find if you searched the entire forest specifically for it.

For the bindings, he used twine that had once been wrapped around an anniversary gift in a shitty bow, and for an added touch, a river-worn rock that was dull and dusty, but so very smooth and white. Finally, Trott pulled out a few lengths of hollowed out driftwood from the very beach he’d met Smith on and cut up his hands sanding them into perfect cylinders, admiring the sun-bleached wood, dried and worn to death, but still beautiful.

He ran a bath, spooning in teaspoons of salt, throwing in a handful of sand. Then adding dumb things, like the guitar pick Trott gave Smith and, to his surprise, had been treasured for years afterwards. A drop or two of that stupid shampoo the tall idiot used, an overpowering stench of lemon that for better or worse, Trott had grown to rely on. The knife Trott had saved Smith with, hairs from the teddy bear they’d made together (from a bag, where you did nothing except stitch of the back and dress it, which, somehow, they’d still fucked up). The “You want a piece of me?!” coaster, and a plastic fork.

Hanging above it all were two roughly carved wooden hearts, one green, one blue, connected by twine and driftwood, a smooth white rock. Trott swirled the water, trying to think about just how much he loved Smith, then dropped in his favourite photo. It was Smith, arm around a drunk and extremely happy Trott, smiling widely, a look of a total adoration on his face as he looked down into Trott’s face. He watched in silence as it hit the water surface, turned dark, broke apart, and sent ink twisting in long circles around in the dusky water.

 

Smith sat naked in the bath. He could feel Trott’s hot breath behind him, against his neck, feel the prickle of sand against his freckled back as Trott rubbed it softly. Then his head was tipped back, one gentle hand curling around his hairline and the other rinsing his dark ginger locks, the carefulness of it startlingly intimate. Something plastic bumped against his leg, rolling with the tiny waves of the bath like a boat on the ocean. Hanging from the curtain rail were two carved hearts on a string, driftwood and river rocks between each.

Smith closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The heat of Trott behind him was comforting, relaxing, and his back and arms felt refreshingly cold after the flow of warm water. A nice contrast. It kept his mind focused. Smith wasn’t usually the sort of person to have a clear mind, but this was different.

“Lay back, sunshine.” Trott’s voice was rough and impossibly deep, and his hands suddenly felt all too hot on Smith’s shoulders. He opened his eyes, leaning back slowly until his spine lay over Trott’s crossed legs, and his head on his lap. He caught Trott’s intense gaze as soon as he was tilted far enough to, and didn’t look away. “That’s it, sunshine.”

Smith wasn’t afraid of drowning, and he trusted Trott, but the feeling of water lapping right at the corners of his eyes and filling his ears was not pleasant. Trott’s long fingers danced across Smith’s face like he was painting, running long wet lines over his cheeks, forehead, his lips. Smith closed his eyes, the steam in the air making his eyelids heavy. Trott put a hand over each eye, just for a moment, and then was gone, hands back by his ears, massaging his hair which was floaty and soft from the water. 

Trott leaned down, kissing Smith upside down, with touches like the fluttering wings of a butterfly and taking Smith’s biceps in his hands. He shifted so that he was on his knees, pulling Smith with him. Their kissing became more forceful, and Smith’s hands found their way onto Trott’s angular cheekbones and sharp jawline. 

All of a sudden, Trott’s hands were vice-like around his arms, pressing him hard against the bottom of the bath. Smith’s eyes flew open, and he struggled in vain against Trott’s iron grip. Trott’s voice seemed to echo in his mind, Trust me, trust me, and his lips were molten hot against Smith’s, the water icy-cold, like Trott was the only warmth in the world.

Smith’s power flew out of him, forcing the water to rise and twist and jump like rough seas in the midst of a hurricane. The walls went dark with water, something glass could be heard smashing against the tile floor, and the only sound was the rush of water. For a moment, Smith could feel his magic fighting Trott’s, felt like he was the water, forcing salty water up Trott’s nostrils and striking his bare chest in great lashes.

And then everything went quiet. Like a switch had been flicked, a light turned off, the water fell back into the tub, to the floor. Trott coughed, and Smith gasped for air. Silence. The soft lull of warmth returning. Their eyes found each other - blue and brown, both wide. Smith reached up, his hand shaking like a leaf, and brushed the blooming bruise on Trott’s cheek with his thumb. 

A stray tear fell from Trott’s eye, and a heavy weight dropped in Smith’s stomach. He gasped as his head was hit with a wave of agony, and then smiled weakly when he realised.

He could feel Trott. In his mind. He was there, on the fringes, pain and fear and worry, and love. He was safe and comforting, just a hare’s breath away, his words or voice not fully solid in Smith’s mind, but the meaning of them clear and bright.

I love you.

Trott leaned down, kissing Smith gently. He stood on weak legs and leaned on the wall for support while he waited for Smith to follow. Their eyes found each other again, both so relieved, so tired. They towelled each other only briefly, Trott rubbing into Smith’s ears in a way that he could never find the words to thank him for, and Smith pressing gently on Trott’s inner knee in a way that he only hoped was as enjoyable as it was tender. 

They stumbled to the bedroom hand in shaky wet hand, pulling back the sheets and falling into a tangle, still damp. Smith wrapped his arms tightly around Trott’s shoulders and Trott rested his forehead on his chest. They smell of brine and the itchy feeling of sand remained, but they were comfortable, untroubled. They breathed deeply together, and eventually, fell asleep peacefully in each other’s arms. Smith had never felt so warm and safe. He just knew, without needing to ask, that Trott was happy, that he was proud of him, and that he felt the same way.

I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> What'd you think? Let me know, comments are always super helpful!


End file.
